Shards
by NaturalBlu
Summary: It’s a million projections in rapid succession and they’re flashing before I can even realize what they are and make sense of them, all twisting together and trying to find order-


My try at post-rebrainment. Lots of thanks to eleanor_ariail, beta of awesome.

* * *

His head spun. The lights were so bright and his own memories screeched in his ears making his spine go rigid. He closed his eyes, covering them with tense and shaking hands, but remembrance still screamed through him, horrible and overwhelming- image after image flashing through his mind's eye as his brain tried to knit them together in some order. He wished he could fall into darkness, but he remained stubbornly conscious. A hundred spectral voices sounded in his head and then there was screaming- begging them to quiet- Ambrose was pleading.

The first casualty was the mirror. He caught a glimpse of himself in it and before he could think, a heavy paperweight from the desk was shattering the looking glass. Ambrose stood and watched the reflecting pieces fall in many shards, and for one moment all was gloriously silent. All too soon though, the moment had passed and his memories wailed back into action. He couldn't think, so instead he acted.

---

Azkadellia found him on his knees among the wreckage.

"Ambrose?" She spoke tentatively, picking her way towards him over the silver pieces of gadgets that had once whirred and ticked with their own mechanical life. When he remained silent, Azkadellia stopped. "…Glitch?" She tried.

" I don't know who I am." His voice was a hollow monotone.

Azkadellia crossed the distance between them and knelt beside him, slipping her arms around him. He didn't move, and his eyes stayed fixed on the ruin before him. Somehow that was worse than if he'd flinched.

"I can't _think_!" He turned to her suddenly, grasping her arms with clinging fingers, and he saw her there before him, then a tiny girl afraid of ghostly masks- a little older and laughing as she learned to dance- distant and dry eyes on a headstone- eyes clouded with chilling fury as words echoed in his head; _I can reach right into that head of yours and pluck out what I want like an apple from a tree._--

He pulled away from her with a gasp as though he'd been held underwater. He backpedaled towards the wall and hissed as a jagged shard of mirror sliced into his hand. In a second, Azkadellia was taking his hand and examining it. He remembered then that the memory of that wicked fury was not this Azkadellia- not truly Azkadellia at all. Looking apologetic, he relaxed and breathed out a soft sigh. Deep red blossomed from his hand, reflected on the mirror piece that angled out from his flesh.

"I'm sorry." He bowed his head and averted his eyes.

With a soft shushing sound, Azkadellia got to her feet and swept into his bathroom. Ambrose watched after her and there she was in his memory, not so long ago, pleading for forgiveness and _oh_, if he could have done something- but then in the present she was returning with a basin of water and towels.

"You didn't have any bandaging in there," She knelt beside him once more, setting the basin down at her side. "I can clean it, but we'll have to see the medicos because you might need it stitched-"

Ambrose groaned. He'd had enough of the medicos to last him two lifetimes. He'd only just gotten away…

"I won't let them prod you too much.." Azkadellia tried to comfort as she drew the glass from his palm and pressed a damp towel to the wound. She was frowning, wanting to ask what had happened, but afraid to agitate him again.

After a few moments Ambrose spoke. "It… it quieted down my head." He looked ashamed. "It's all so…" He tried to find the words in the still-healing jumble of his brain. "It's a million projections in rapid succession and they're flashing before I can even realize what they are and make sense of them, all twisting together and trying to find order-"

Azkadellia cupped his cheek in her hand to quiet him. "It sounds like a headache." She smiled sympathetically. "Maybe the medicos could give you something,"

"More pills," Ambrose said dully.

Azkadellia pressed a dry towel to his hand, squeezing it in her own. She felt a terrible, gnawing guilt as she looked at him.

"Ambrose," She sighed his name then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You'll be alright. We'll both be alright- We _will_."

Ambrose nodded but he did not truly believe her. Where was his "wide-eyed optimism" now? What would Cain think? He let Azkadellia help him to his feet and told himself to keep trusting in her. He glanced around at the shambles of the room and Azkadellia waved one of her hands. The broken shards of mirror rose into the air and began to reassemble themselves in the frame. After a few long moments, the mirror was in one piece. Upon close inspection, there were the cracks like hairline scars, but his reflection was whole- the mirror still worked.

Azkadellia followed his gaze, then drew him in, placing a kiss on his temple. Without another word, she took his hand and led him from the room.


End file.
